


A Growing Thing

by orphan_account



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Gay Panic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 01:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20018275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Before the Snowball, Will learned how to dance from his mom. Mike learned how to dance from Will.





	A Growing Thing

**Author's Note:**

> I needed some fluff so I wrote some fluff.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Will’s actually not sure at all. He feels sick to his stomach, and his palms are clammy, and he has _so many regrets_ right now, standing here in the middle of Mike’s room. He knows this is his best friend, and that they’ve shared almost everything since they first met in kindergarten, but something about this feels different. He kind of wants to back out, say that he doesn’t feel well, or that he forgot that Jonathan was going to pick him up soon, or…or anything really. But Mike smiles in gratitude, and all of that melts away in an instant.

This is _Mike_ after all.

“Thanks, man. I just…I don’t wanna look like an idiot if she _does_ show up, you know?”

“Yeah.”

It’s the night before the Snowball, and Will’s promised to teach Mike how to dance. He never thought that complaining about his mom forcing lessons on him would lead to this but, well, here they are.

Mike switches on his bulky radio on his dresser, and a simple melody begins drifting out, low and smooth.

“This okay?” Mike asks.

Will nods.

His friend is fresh out of the shower, hair damp, dressed in comfortable clothes, and Will can’t help but think that he looks _good_ like this. When they were younger, he had been sworn to secrecy concerning his friend’s hair. He didn’t want a single soul to know that every morning since the third grade, he meticulously flattened it using Nancy’s hair dryer. Will thought it was stupid—he loved Mike’s natural hair. It had been straight when they were little, but the older he got, the more wild it got, and by the time they started middle school, he had managed to grow an absolute lions mane of nearly untamable curls that made Will’s heart feel weak.

He rarely got to see it, only catching glimpses here and there at sleepovers or right after swimming, but Will lived for those moments. Lived for the moments when a tangle would bounce over Mike’s brow or into his eyes. Like they were right now. Here. In his room. As he waited for Will to take his hand and guide him in a dance.

_It’s practice for a girl_ , he reminds himself. _He’s not like you_.

Whatever that means.

Because if he’s honest with himself, Will’s not even entirely sure _what_ he is. His dad used to call him a fag—sometimes still does on the rare occasion that he sees him. The kids at school call him queer, a fairy, gay. He’s never fully understood why; doesn’t know if it has something to do with the way he looks, or how he acts, or the way he dresses. He doesn’t _feel_ like he’s different from everyone else. In fact, he doesn’t really like _boys_ or _girls_ right now. Just Mike. It’s always just been Mike.

Mike, who stands a full head taller than him, who’s always been long and gangly and covered in freckles. The boy who’s not afraid to do silly impressions or voices, and who can plan the longest and best D&D campaign imaginable. His best friend, who puts an arm around him when he’s happy, or when Will is scared; who once held his hand on the swings when they’d kicked their legs so hard that they’d nearly faced the sky.

Mike takes his hand again now, and for one heart stopping second Will’s afraid he’s going to faint like a damsel in a movie.

“Like this?”

Will nods.

“A-and,” he stutters, “the other a little higher than my waist.”

“Okay.”

Mike seems so calm as they begin to sway, and Will doesn’t understand because he’s pretty sure he’s dying. He wonders if the other boy can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his shirt, through his skin, through his ribs, because it feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest. He keeps his eyes trained on their feet, giving gentle instructions on how to move and when because he doesn’t dare look up, not when Mike’s this close, that would be too much.

“Thanks for doing this, Will,” Mike says, voice soft.

Will risks a quick glance up through his eyelashes, and Mike is looking down at him fondly, smile soft and gentle. Will’s stomach explodes with butterflies.

“You really are the best,” the boy continues.

Then he drops his hand so that _both_ are placed right above Will’s waist and what can Will do but rest his own on his friend’s shoulders and—

_Oh my God, Oh my God, Oh my God_ , he chants inside his head, because this is so much more than he bargained for.

He knows his eyes must be wide as saucers, and the back of his neck feels hot which means his cheeks must be red, and Mike really must be the most oblivious person on the planet. For the first time in his life, Will is grateful for it.

“You have no idea how good it is to have you back,” Mike continues. “I mean, really have you back. The past two years…”

There are suddenly two fingers underneath his chin, nudging his face upwards, and Mike is leaning down to press his forehead against his. Will can feel his damp curls tickling the edges of his cheeks, can see the perfect bow of his worried mouth, can count every single freckle on his perfect porcelain skin.

“I hope nothing ever happens to you again.”

Mike presses a chaste kiss to Will’s cheek. Then another, and another, and his shoulders hitch like he’s trying not to cry.

“I never want anything bad to happen to you ever again.”

He pulls Will in closer for a tight hug, still rocking in tune with the music, before placing one more kiss on his cheek.

There are so many things Will wants to say, so many things he wants to do.

He wants to promise Mike that everything will be okay, wants to run his fingers through his hair, wants to kiss that worried frown off his mouth, wants to whisper what his heart is finally screaming—

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

But instead, he hugs back just as tight and rocks to the music with him.

For now, that is enough.


End file.
